


After Midnight

by WilliamLazenbyotch



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: M/M, Molestation, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 16:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilliamLazenbyotch/pseuds/WilliamLazenbyotch
Summary: Jonathan recalls some troubling dreams on the night of St. George's Eve.





	After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fail_fandomanon's 100 words of lust at first sight (https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/331210.html?thread=1908199626#cmt1908199626). Rather obviously not 100 words.

Jonathan remembered the strange lingering touch of the coachman's fingers against his arm as the blackclad man took his traps, but he made no record of it, just as he made no account of how the supposed driver looked through him with his rust red eyes that first night, or the strange emphasis to his introductory vow to "take all care" of the young solicitor.   
  
More particularly, however, his recovered diary bore only the most opaque references to the dreams he had had riding endlessly round the mountain forests in that unknown region between Klausenburg and the border of Bukovina. He made note of flames and cairns and circling wolves, but there was an omission of things perhaps more chilling to the heart of a respectable English churchman than the pageantry of St. George's Eve. He only recognized later, in the aftermath of all that befell them, the grim import of these first seeming phantasies, blent as they became with other horrors.  
  
How was he to tell of them? How was he to tell her? Of the sparkling motes of blue moonlight that seemed to invade the heaving chamber of the calèche that night, of the unseen hands that somehow snaked under his buttoned coat and trousers? Everything was in shadow and nothing was certain, but he had such visions: of something that was man, woman, beast, worse-than-beast... pressing itself against his unmoving body, his own manhood aching and taut against that of the incubus as the thing's hot breathe washed over him.  
  
The scent. How could he have later forgotten it? It lingered on his strange client, clung to his various domiciles, and sunk into the very dirt in which he slept--the sickly odor of so much putrescent blood.


End file.
